


An Error in Judgement

by rainboots (whenwewereoceans)



Series: Severus Snape Has a Daughter [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adult Content, Before Harry was born, F/M, Marauders' Era, Pre-Hogwarts, Romance, Smut, Snape is like 19, mention of torture/abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 19:21:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6389896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whenwewereoceans/pseuds/rainboots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Severus Snape is young, resentful and recently taken the Dark Mark. He is also no longer in love with Lily Evans, a inevitability he has difficulty acknowledging. But what begins as a misdirected attempt to get a Muggle girl out of his head, Severus discovers his heart is not as black as it seems, and that not even he is invulnerable to the long fall.  </p>
<p>This is the first arc in a much longer series that will take us through books 4-7. Some backstory was required, thus this first part involving the start of Severus and my OC Miranda's relationship. The summary is lame and will be reworked in the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Error in Judgement

**Author's Note:**

> This is set pre-Hogwarts era, before Harry's birth and the prophecy being made. This early story involves Severus still as a Death Eater, so there will be mention/discussion of torture, sexual abuse, and murder. It is not graphic, but it is implied. I have no beta so rough grammar/spelling might be missed. Leave a comment or kudos if you enjoyed, and thanks for reading!

It was Halloween night, and Severus Snape was very bored.

When Mulciber had salaciously suggested they all go on a “Muggle hunt”, Severus had unwisely thought they were going on some errant of Murder ordered by the Dark Lord. He was, however, sorely wrong; which was why he was sitting in a dingy Muggle pub and wearing uncomfortable Muggle clothing for the purpose of _blending in._ The dark trousers and long woolen coat fit differently from his robes, feeling _wrong_ in most places and much too tight in others. At least the drink sitting before him was stiff, for he did not think he could tolerate the Muggle’s laughably juvenile celebration of Halloween without the help of whiskey.

His lip curled in distaste as his dark eyes roved the dim room; tawdry paper jack-o’-lanterns were plastered to the walls, plastic bats dangled from the ceiling and fake cobwebs complete with rubber spiders clung to nearly ever surface. But even more ridiculous, perhaps, were the costumes the Muggle women wore – and calling them as such was gratuitous. It was as if every girl wore less than the last: short, tight black dresses and a pointed hat in an insulting parody of a witch; lacy corsets over netted stockings, with a cotton ball tail and fuzzy rabbit ears; an equal amount of devils and angels, complete with red horns or tinsel halos. Severus could only be mildly disgusted by the amount of skin they bared with the ill-disguised intent to invite greedy stares, many of which they were getting from his fellow Death Eaters. They had wedged themselves into a booth in a darkened corner, one that had a stubby candle atop a plastic skull that had Yaxley snickering, and hungry eyes fixed upon the crowded room. Severus knew perfectly well why they were there, even though he had no interest in the pursuit of cursing Muggle women and subjecting them to whatever humiliation he could think of. These were the brutal talents of his less subtle colleagues, whereas his specialties to the Dark Lord involved more finesse; such as coaxing hidden thoughts and secrets from a mind that could not be broken open from torture.

Yet his disinterest in overpowering vulnerable women was something of a joke to his fellows, which was why he was often hoodwinked into joining them on their “hunts”. Mulciber, Yaxley and Macnair were the most vicious in their intents, indulging in torture and sexual abuse, while Gibbon mocked their victims and relished in their screams. Travers was present to clean up the mess, usually by killing, and less frequently with damaging Memory charms. Severus regarded these activities with little more than disgust, considering it to be both a waste of time and effort for something as base as physical release, or for just a laugh.

So he endured their taunts, their clever little tricks to get him in on their latest Muggle exploit, and showed little beyond bored contempt. For there was one final sliver, a single hardened kernel of humanity left in him that was repulsed by what he had become; a part of him saw _her_ face in every Muggle girls’ – the only person he was certain he ever loved.

_Had_ loved.

He hid his pained grimace in his drink, and tried to summon up a flicker of _anything_ in his painfully empty heart. It was a ridiculous thing, his fear of acknowledging that his feelings for Lily Evans had been cooling for a long time. He had loved her since they were children, coveted and craved her for nearly two decades, to the point where he just _expected_ it. She was the only constant and dependable thing in his life, all of his deep-rooted insecurities tied to the attention she gave him. He had always anticipated the stutter in his pulse, the ache in his stomach, drowning in the what-ifs – until he had called her the unforgivable, and lost both his best friend and adolescent love in one fell swoop.

He blamed himself, utterly; Lily Evans was at no fault in this situation. But when she had shut the portrait leading to the Gryffindor dormitories in his face, those blooms of infatuation had wilted, and for the first time, Severus reflected on their friendship. Two outcast children brought together by their secret world, who turned into radically different young adults with a mutual streak of sentimentality. She, regarding him as the gateway to the magical community, and he still latched onto her friendly affections like a starved dog. But she had become a woman who fell for the attentions of his schoolboy tormentor, a betrayal that he had felt like no other. That had been the moment Severus began to fall out of love, or whatever that pit of pining was that he had trapped himself in for so long.

Though blind he no longer was to the truth of his lifelong infatuation of Lily Evans, he was still terrified of losing the last piece of him that remained innocent in all the atrocities he committed. A soul could remain intact for only so long, and how long would it be before all the fragments were forfeit? And so he held onto the memory of her dark red hair, hoping it would stir the remains of his morality before it was lost forever.

Engrossed as he was in his attempt at conjuring up old feelings, Severus thought he had imagined her into being – his eyes snagged on a glint of red hair in between the crush of bodies. He stiffened, trying to ignore how he noted the absence of visceral response, knowing there was hardly a place more dangerous for Lily Evans - a known disciple of Albus Dumbledore - than in a bar with a group of Death Eater’s with a lust for dirtied blood.

But then the crowd parted, letting the red hair pushed past a man in leather, and Severus felt himself relax. It was not Lily, a fact that was glaringly obvious as she came closer. This girl’s hair was more coppery, tumbling curls falling nearly to her waist, and was undoubtedly a Muggle. She was dressed in all black and holding a tray with empty glasses, informing Severus that she worked in the pub.

He wasn’t the only who had noticed her; Yaxley was watching her approach with a lewd smirk, shoulders tensed like a wolf about to pounce on unsuspecting prey. “Look at this tasty little thing,” he leered, “d’you think the rug matches the drapes?”

Mulciber, Macnair and Gibbon sniggered appreciatively, and Travers gave an indulgent smirk. Severus said nothing, pretending he was staring into his drink when really, he was watching the barmaid from the corner of his eye. She was the ideal plaything; small and slender, pale skin that would bruise as easily as an apple, a beautiful face to ruin.

Severus frowned at himself. Since when did he actively register a woman’s appearance, and when did he become whimsical enough to use the term _beautiful?_ Thinking the drink was affecting him faster than usual, he glanced at the girl again. Well, woman, since this time he noticed considerable assets that put her beyond girlhood. She had stopped at a nearby table, and was laughing at something a patron said; the sound was carried to their booth, which caught Severus’ company’s attention like predators catching a rabbit’s scent on the wind. He, however, had come over strangely jittery.

Caught up in his abrupt confusion, Severus failed to anticipate what happened next; the girl turned away from the table, coming far too close to their booth, and Yaxley roughly snatched her wrist. She was jerked to a stop, turning a defiant expression on their table. Severus froze as if startled by a bright light, unable to look away; she had wide blue-grey eyes the color of a storm at sea, and berry-stained lips pressed into an insulted frown. She _was_ small, but her temper was palpable, like the crackle if electricity before a lightning strike.

“Can I help you, gentlemen?” she said politely, with a pointed look at Yaxley’s hand on her wrist. There was a musical lilt to her voice - Irish, Severus realized foggily, before tearing his gaze away to gulp down his whiskey.

“Aye,” Yaxley said, smirking. He did not relinquish his hold. “Why don’t you get a round of pints and join us, Red? Sit down a spell.”

This was met with murmured agreements, but they were gravelly and threatening like a growl in a monstrous throat. The barmaid’s eyes were shrewd, sweeping over them with a barely discernable look of distaste, before they settled on Severus. He felt a heat in his belly that had little to do with the whiskey, and it was with a forced sneer that he turned away to wrestle a curiously fluttering heart; beautiful, indeed.

“Sorry, boys,” she said lightly, twisting her hand free of Yaxley’s grip. “Not my section.”

She turned on her heel and marched away. Severus realized just how hard he was gripping his glass, and relaxed his hold with a slow exhale.

His fellows laughed raucously. “I guess it’s her lucky night,” Yaxley snorted, still staring in the direction she’d disappeared. “The things I would have done to her pretty little mouth…”

Severus didn’t speak another word the rest of the night, and kept his gaze fixed determinedly on the plastic skull before him lest he catch another bewildering glimpse of red hair. He was frustrated, he reasoned, deprived of pleasures since his service to the Dark Lord. He didn’t have the taste for forcing himself on a woman like most of his brethren, so it had been a long, long while since he had felt the touch of a lover. _That_ was why, he told himself sternly, there was a lingering blue-grey in the space once inhabited by green.

It was very late when they decided to leave; the patrons that hadn’t disappeared with their nightly escapades were growing louder and more belligerent, and Macnair began to grunt that the pickings were slim. Even Death Eater’s held a standard to their depravity; brutality could not be wasted on the uncomely.

As Severus followed them out of the pub, he couldn’t resist a last glance around the bar for a flash of scarlet; and it was not bitter disappointment, he decided firmly when he didn’t get one, but irritation. For Severus Snape did not _want_ to bother with Muggle women, and certainly not one so delicate with soft-looking curls and striking eyes.

He would not be back, he told himself.

And he was wrong.


End file.
